


The World at Large

by kriiptkeeper



Category: Carrie (1976), Carrie (2002), Carrie (2013), Carrie - All Media Types, Carrie - Stephen King, Friday the 13th Series (Movies), Ringu | The Ring - All Media Types, The Texas Chainsaw Massacre (Movies)
Genre: Adoption, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Crossover, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Family Bonding, Fluff and Angst, Found Family, Friendship, Himbo, Multi, Nonbinary Character, Religious Guilt, Trans Character, Trauma, headcannons, himbos, powers, religious trauma, slashers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-13
Updated: 2021-03-12
Packaged: 2021-03-20 17:06:48
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 999
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30008130
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kriiptkeeper/pseuds/kriiptkeeper
Summary: Takes places after Carrie (1976) except she lived and ran away but BOOM jason voorhees is there and ADOPTION?????things abt this fic:carrie is a trans lesbian and is autisticpamela voorhees is a lesbianjason voorhees is nonbinary, bi, and autisticbubba sawyer is bisexual and autisticchop top sawyer has adhd and is super gaynubbins sawyer has adhd and autism and is trans and aromanticsadako is biromantic and asexualso yeah get roasted i make my headcannons  lit as hell
Relationships: Carrie White & Yamamura Sadako, Jason Voorhees & Carrie White, Jason Voorhees & Pamela Voorhees, Leatherface | Bubba "Junior" Sawyer/Jason Voorhees, Pamela Voorhees & Carrie White
Kudos: 3





	The World at Large

It was raining that fateful april day. Carrie White had just killed 74 people.  
She was drenched in blood, dirt, and ashes. She had killed god knows how many people and burned her house to the ground with her mother in it. She paced back and forth, holding a small bag in her sweaty hands. It contained exactly $7.38, a rosary, a change of clothes, and a knife.  
It was 4:AM, and Carrie was deep in the woods. The trees loomed over her like dark hands, gripping and grabbing at the dark sky. Their leaves shook as the rain pelted them like bullets on a battlefield.  
Her breathing was heavy and ragged, and she trembled like the trees above her. She looked around anxiously, hoping that no one could hear her heavy footsteps or her heavier breathing.  
She ran her filthy fingers through her sopping wet tangled strawberry blonde hair, catching leaves and sticks and tossing them on the dirt beside her.  
Carrie looked around for a place to rest, clutching her bag to her chest. Her shoulders were sore and her eyes were tired and strained. She whipped her head around wildly looking for somewhere to sleep, somewhere where no one would see her.  
Eventually Carrie laid eyes on a dense log, surrounded by moss and thick foliage. In her desperation, she clinged by it, gripping onto the tree and sobbing.  
“Oh holy Jesus, forgive me. Forgive me sweet lord Jesus, please forgive me,” She sobbed into her bag. “Mommy, I’m so sorry, I love you Mama, I’m so sorry.” Her whole body shook, as she lay in the freezing mud and rain. Her vision began to fade to black, and in her exhaustion, she had fallen asleep.

After what had only felt like a minute of rest, but in all actuality was probably closer to a few hours, Carrie awoke to warm sunlight on her face, and a large boots in front of her.

Someone was standing over Carrie. They were hulking, imposing, and carrying a machete.

“W-who are you!?” She shouted, shaking like a chihuahua. She shoved her hand into her bag and pulled out a knife. The dirt around her shifted as she huddled back.  
Whoever was standing over Carrie stepped closer, and extended their free hand. Carrie looked at their hand, and back at their face, finally taking the chance to notice that they were wearing some sort of... hockey mask? Carrie didn’t have time to question it. Without thinking, she reached her hand back out and grabbed onto the person's large, cold hand.  
“Your skin is grey,” Carrie looked at their hand. “Are you okay?” She asked, the fear from earlier inexplicitly melting away.  
The person shook their head no, before briefly signing something  
“ J A S O N ”, Signed the man.  
Carrie had learned sign language as an elective at school, so it only took her a minute to figure out what he was saying.  
“Oh, your name is Jason?” She asked, her fear almost completely gone, despite being hand in hand with a masked stranger (who was holding a machete longer than Carries arm).  
Jason shook his head happily, letting go again to give Carrie a small thumbs up.  
Most of their walk was in silence, Carrie lightly swung her arm, but avoided eye contact. She was still dripping wet and covered and blood, most of which was her own. The grass was still wet, and the mud was quite deep. 

It smelled like hot concrete, flowers, and dirt outside.

Carrie took a deep inhale, holding the pleasant smell in her lungs. She knew she smelled awful, like sweat and rotten meat, and the man much next to her didn’t smell much better. He smelled like iron and swamp water. But the air outside masked it well enough. Her thin lips curled into a sort of smile, before she forced herself to stop. How could she smile after what she did last night?  
Eventually, after walking for upwards of 30 minutes, they made it to a run down cabin. The cabin was actually quite pretty, despite how run down and old it was. There was a garden to the side, some small garden gnomes, a shed that seemed much newer than the cabin, and a small sign hanging over the door. Carrie immediately recognized the name, Camp Crystal Lake. When she was in grade school she remembered hearing girls talking about what had happened there. 

She decided the much more polite thing to do was not mention it, but she avoided eye contact with the sign, instead opting to focus on how the house smelled.  
She smelled the Peonies growing in the garden, but she also smelled rotting wood. She smelled the warm wet ground, but also a tangy iron scent, but most importantly, she smelled fresh baked bread. Carrie once again smiled subconsciously, this time not bothering to get rid of it.  
Jason turned to her and set his machete down, he also let go of her hand. “My House.” He signed.  
He stepped confidently to the door, and knocked three times. The two of them waited for a second, before the door opened, a small chime ringing from it.

It was a small middle aged woman. Her hair was short and she was wearing a very soft looking frog sweater. She had a very kind looking smile.  
“Jason!” She smiled, hugging the very tall man. “Did you get anything today?”  
Jason only turned to the side, and pointed at Carrie.

“Who’s this?” The woman asked. Jason shrugged, realizing he never got her name.  
“I’m Cas-,” Carrie paused, a brief flash of distress washed over her. “I- I’m Carrie.”  
“Well, Carrie, you look absolutely awful, come inside, you can use our shower. I’m Jason's mom, but you can call me Pamela or Mrs. Voorhees.”  
Carrie smiled to herself.  
‘Vorhees is a nice last name.’ She thought to herself before walking into the home. 

“Welcome to our humble abode!


End file.
